


hands off

by katocchi



Series: alphabits [6]
Category: Huntik: Secrets & Seekers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Babysitters, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Babies, Crack Treated Seriously, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Gen, Magic, No Plot/Plotless
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-01-21 01:44:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21291587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katocchi/pseuds/katocchi
Summary: “The book’s enchantment was able to bring people back to their youth, but the spell was incomplete. The observations in the journal noted that instead of turning back to their intended age, many were reverted back to infancy―that’s why Lok and Sophie were two. Luckily, the situation is temporary. As days pass, the spell will start wearing off, and they’ll begin aging until they reach their normal state.”So if what Guggenheim says is true, then the only way to get Lok and Sophie back is to...wait?“Dante, Zhalia, I give you your toughest mission yet: parenting.”
Relationships: Sophie Casterwill/Lok Lambert, Zhalia Moon/Dante Vale
Series: alphabits [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1534889
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21





	1. terrible twos

Zhalia rolls her shoulders to loosen the muscles and alleviate the growing ache. She doesn't know how long she's been in the practice room, but judging by the position of the Sun in the sky and the rumbling of her stomach, it's been a while.

"Thanks, Gareon," she says to the small titan as it scampers over with a water bottle and towel. It hisses and gestures toward her phone before scrambling up her arm. A message from Dante? Seems urgent. She presses his name, and he picks up almost immediately after the first ring.

"Zhalia, please tell me you're free today," he asks breathlessly. Maybe he was training, too.

"Depends what for," she replies, taking another swig of water. "Is it worth my time?"

"Probably not, but I need your help. It's an emergency." There's an undertone of desperation in his request, and it kicks her brain into high alert. Something has Dante frazzled, and the russet haired man is rarely frazzled. "Can you come over as soon as possible? Maybe in ten minutes?"

"I'll be there in five."

.

She makes it to the house in a record four minutes, twenty-eight seconds, and the door swings open before she even gets the chance to knock.

"Thank you," he sighs in relief once he sees her, "and I apologize for this in advance."

Zhalia blinks, unsure of what to make of the sight in front of her. One of Dante's hands is threaded through his hair, tugging at the locks nervously, and the other is holding a green eyed, strawberry blonde toddler that looks...vaguely familiar. The child leans her cheek against Dante's shoulder and whimpers as he welcomes Zhalia into the threshold.

"So, what am I here for exactly?" She eyes the small girl curiously. She wouldn't call _babysitting _an emergency. Whose kid is this anyway? The only strawberry blonde she knows is Sophie, and last she checked, Lok and Sophie _just_ got together.

Dante pinches his nose and exhales sharply. "Long story short, we're on baby duty until we get word from the Foundation―_Lok,_ hands off the stove! Cherit, get him away!"

"Roger!" The gargoyle-like titan flutters over to a blond boy reaching for a boiling pot and pushes his little fingers away. "C'mon Lok, my boy, let's get you back to your toys."

The boy pouts but lets Cherit lead him to the living room. _Lok_? No way. She saw him two days ago, and he was an adult. But now that Zhalia looks beyond the round baby cheeks, the boy does have recognizable blue eyes. That means this girl must be…

"_Sophie?_"

At the sound of her name, she perks up and cooes at Zhalia, but her fingers stay clenched in Dante's shirt. The midnight haired seeker tries to keep the look of shock off her face―really, considering her line of work, she shouldn't be easy to surprise―but she's struggling to pick her jaw up off the floor.

"What...what happened? Why did half of our team turn into _toddlers_?"

"I tried to warn them." Dante sets Sophie down next to Lok, and she instantly clutches a teddy bear to her chest. Lok makes grabby hands at the bear. "I had this enchanted book and was planning on sending back to headquarters; it was a relic of a reclusive tribe who claimed to have found the Elixir of Youth. I had my suspicions about it and told them not to touch it, but those two are rather awful at staying out of trouble."

Zhalia watches as Sophie makes indignant sounds at Lok and holds the toy out of his reach. Even as babbling...creatures, their dynamic hasn't changed. It's almost funny how she refers to them as "the kids" just to get a rise, and here they are as _actual_ children.

"Do you know how long they'll be this way?" She follows him to the kitchen where he clicks off the stove and transfers the cooked pasta to a large bowl. The idea of having those two out of her hair is nice, but it also means that two of the Foundation's best seekers are down. And having to find two new seekers to take their place? Titans, she just got used to the Casterwill.

"I've notified the right people, and hopefully, they'll find some way to reverse this soon."

"If at all," she supplies, catching his thin lipped grimace.

"If at all."

While Dante pours tomato sauce over his pasta, she peers back into the other room. At some point, Lok got ahold of Cherit's tail and is tugging at it, much to Sophie's amusement. The girl claps happily, emerald eyes sparkling, as Lok gives another yank. As wary as Zhalia is―trust her, baby fever is the _last _thing she'd ever fall victim to―she has to admit that the two are cute. She mentally flinches. Make sure Lok and Sophie never find out that thought crossed her mind.

"Dante, you're not seriously making them eat that?"

"Why not? We were planning to have spaghetti before they turned into babies, so it's not like I have other ingredients. How bad can it be?"

.

As it turns out, bad. Very bad.

Zhalia frowns and tries to rub out her shirt's new stains. Dante thought feeding them was a good idea, but who knew Sophie had such quick reflexes? She swatted the fork away with a cry, causing it to splatter onto the blue haired seeker. Lok accepted the food quietly, but as Dante was handing napkins to Zhalia, the boy somehow managed to grab the bowl and spill it onto Dante's pants.

"New plan," he grits out. "Cherit, get a sheet and spread it on the floor. We're just going to give them a bowl, and they can figure it out for themselves."

The kids must've picked up on his frustration because Sophie fists a napkin and offers it to him while Lok nudges the bowl back to its original position. _Those baby eyes are dangerous,_ Zhalia notes as she immediately feels the need to forgive them. She wonders absently if Sophie can do that look again in her normal body; it has the potential to make even the strongest man fall. Beside her, Dante softens and takes the napkin, making a show of wiping his pants.

"What about Zhalia?" he asks and signals for Sophie to give her one, too. The strawberry blonde side-eyes her before averting her eyes. As a baby, she didn't know how to scoff, but Zhalia feels the rejection in her bones.

She scowls. _Casterwill_.

.

At some point, Sophie falls asleep playing tag with Cherit. The grey titan tucks her in on the couch and points to Lok, declaring, "Nap time for you, too, my boy!"

Lok yelps and toddles off into the kitchen where he latches onto Dante's leg, babbling vehement refusals. "It's alright, Cherit. Just let him run around until he gets tired," Dante sighs with all the exhaustion of a new parent. It's barely been a _day_. "If you don't mind, can you keep him away from Sophie? I don't want him to wake her up."

"I'll keep him distracted," Zhalia offers, pushing off the counter. Cherit gives her a grateful smile before stretching with a _Maybe it's nap time for _me. "Alright, kid, let's go play with some blocks."

Lok's happy to sit by the couches with Zhalia and entertain himself with colorful cubes. He stacks a few of them into a small tower and, with an exhale of spittle and giggles, knocks them down. He tries to stack them up again, this time adding another piece, but he's devastated to find out that spherical balls don't stay in place.

"That's obviously not gonna work," Zhalia snorts as Lok kicks his feet in irritation. Oh, Titans, is he _crying_? She wipes away the falling tears and tsks quietly, being gentler than she normally would. "Seekers don't get upset when they fail. They just try and try again until they get it. You of all people should know this, Lok. C'mon, just find a solution."

She feels a little silly talking to someone who's _two_; who knows if he actually understands what she says? But it looks like he does because he rubs at the tear tracks on his face and focuses his gaze back on the toys. He scans the ones in front of him before _aha!_ he spots the correct container across the rug. Dropping the ball in with a triumphant grin, he turns to Zhalia and claps for himself.

"Yay!"

"Yay," she echoes without enthusiasm. He plops back down beside her to keep playing, and she can't help reaching up to ruffle his hair. She wouldn't...mind if they stayed this way. The word _cute_ falls out of her mouth again before she could stop it, but it doesn't feel strange to admit it because hey, she's human, too. She can admit when things—even these snot producing brats—are cute.

Suddenly, a terrifying thought occurs to her.

"Dante. _Dante_!"

"Yeah?"

"Are they potty trained?"

.

Their solution is to call LeBlanche, who comes over with a basket of diapers and wet wipes. The Frenchman doesn't even blink at seeing his charge two decades younger than she was yesterday. He just sets his basket down and gets to work. LeBlanche has been raising Sophie since she was young, and even before then, he had experience raising children around the Casterwill safehouse. He makes quick work of the diaper situation, and turns to them with a _Did you want to learn? _Both she and Dante give hard _Absolutely not_s and stand at a safe distance while he puts one on Lok.

"I'd love to stay and help you, but there's paperwork waiting for me back at the manor."

"What if they need their diapers changed?" Dante pleads. Zhalia's never heard him this desperate before. "Can't you bring your paperwork over here?"

"Unfortunately, it'd be too inconvenient to bring the documents all the way here. Perhaps I will send Santiago over."

.

Santiago just makes everything worse.

As soon as he sees Sophie, he freezes. And as soon as she pokes his knee curiously, he bursts into tears. Zhalia drags a hand down her face with an angry groan because his sobs prompt _Sophie _to cry and Sophie crying instantly makes _Lok_ upset, so she kneels down and gathers them in her arms with soft pats and comforting whispers. Is this how you handle children?

"Please make yourself useful or get out of my house." Dante leans his forehead on the wall in defeat. Zhalia herself hasn't looked in a mirror since she's gotten here, but in the span of several hours, Dante's developed severe eye bags that age him several years "Do you at least know how to change diapers?"

"Yes, but I wouldn't dare."

He says that he wouldn't be able to look Lok and his Lady the same way after, and as annoyed as she is, she can't fault him: that's the same reason why she doesn't want to do it. She glances at her partner again and notices the way his shoulders dip forward―maybe Santiago can help with one thing.

"Do you mind distracting them while we get some sleep then? Something tells me we're gonna need it tonight."

"I can certainly do that!"

.

Zhalia swears she only slept for 5 minutes, but the clock beside the bed reads an hour and a half later. To her left, Dante snores quietly.

"Hey, wake up." She jostles his shoulder. She feels a little bad for waking him, but the living room is suspiciously quiet, and she has a feeling neither of them are going to be happy with what they find. "We should go check on the kids."

"They'll be fine," he mumbles, snagging an arm around her waist and pulling her against his chest. "S'okay, Santiago's watching them."

"Yeah, that's exactly why I'm worried," she says, the words foreign on her tongue. Their roles seem reversed; why is he so nonchalant about this? More importantly, why does she care so much? But she lets him tug her closer and makes a mental note to get him more beard conditioner: ever since he ran out, his kisses have been rather prickly. "Do you know when the Foundation's supposed to find a cure for this? Or do I have to research local preschools to enroll them in?"

"Y'know, I was secretly hoping this was all a bad dream."

"I'm sorry for bringing you back to reality then," she retorts sarcastically.

"I think I can forgive you for it. The current reality isn't _too _bad." He squeezes her tightly, and she was going to respond when something starts shuffling by the door. They exchange a look. "Santiago?"

The door handle clicks, and the light from the hallway floods into the room, illuminating Sophie, still holding a teddy bear but...slightly taller?

"Zhalia, can I get water?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the eighth installment of my alphabits series! (more info on my bio on FFN.) i'm a little surprised i'm revisiting the huntik fandom so fast, but the plot for this just perfectly fit this team. i know the writing sounds a little stiff—something about not being familiar with the characters and experimenting a bit with the format is making me feel out of the zone, so i'm actually rewatching Huntik on netflix! hopefully, that'll resolve it.
> 
> **inspirations.**  
my 1.5 year old niece and a 2 year old i know


	2. fumbling fives

“Just because she _ says _ so doesn’t mean you should’ve listened,” Zhalia scolds as she hands Sophie a glass of water, which Dante immediately intercepts because _ Zhalia, she’s going to spill it on herself _. Zhalia doesn’t lift her glare from Santiago’s huddled form. Seriously! All he had to do was watch the two kids while they played; is that so hard? Instead, Sophie managed to get up the stairs by herself, Lok was pulling cooking oil out of lower cabinets, and during all this, Santiago was in the corner with his eyes closed because his charge ‘told him to.’

“My Lady insisted…”

“In case you haven’t noticed, ‘Your Lady’ is also two!”

“No, I’m five!” Sophie pipes up, shoving splayed fingers into the air. “Dante, I’m hungry. Can we have food?”

From somewhere in the other room, Lok chants _ Chick-en! Chick-en! Chick-en! _ and gives a cheer.

“Point still proven. What happened to the ‘I do what’s best for her, even if it makes her angry’ Santiago?”

“It’s those eyes.” He waves a hand at the little Casterwill, who blinks back at him. “Can you look at them and say no?”

Touche. “Go home for the night. Dante and I can take them from here.”

.

“It almost looks like a family portrait,” Guggenheim remarks with a hint of a smile.

“Haha, very funny,” Dante rolls his eyes before giving Lok and Sophie each half of a sandwich. They sit themselves between the older seekers and start munching messily, dropping crumbs onto the couch cushions.

_ Note to self, give them bigger plates _, Zhalia brushes the crumbs to the floor to vacuum later. “Cut to the chase, what can you tell us about the book? And what do we do about these two?”

“The book’s enchantment was able to bring people back to their youth, but the spell was incomplete. The observations in the journal noted that instead of turning into their intended age, many were reverted back to infancy―that’s why Lok and Sophie were two. Luckily, the situation is temporarily. As days pass, the spell will start wearing off, and they’ll begin aging until they reach their normal state.” He leans into the camera. “Why, it looks like the process has already started! How old are you now, little one?”

“I’m five!” The blond boy holds up both hands and accidentally knocks the plate off his lap. “Oops…”

“This is five!” Sophie chastises and holds up her right hand, correctly displaying five fingers. “And look, you made a big mess! Now Dante’s going to be mad!”

“I’ll just clean it up after,” Dante says gently, placing a comforting hand on Lok’s shoulder. “Did you want another sandwich?”

Meanwhile, Zhalia’s brow furrows. So if what Guggenheim says is true, then the only way to get Lok and Sophie back is to...wait?

“Dante, Zhalia, I give you your toughest mission yet: parenting.”

.

Zhalia crosses her arms and doesn’t budge from the door. This is a little childish, she admits; if Dante really wanted to leave, he could just push past her. And if he really, _ really _wanted to leave, he could jump out a window. But here he is in front of her, giving an exasperated sigh.

“We need groceries,” he points out. With clumsy toddlers who drop half their meal on the floor, food has gotten scarce, and she knows that it’s logical for them to stock up for the next few days.

However.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t take Sophie with you. Dante, there’s no way you’re leaving me alone with both of them. I refuse.”

“It’d be faster if I go by myself.”

“Then I’ll go get groceries, and you can stay here.”

His amber eyes flash. “I was with them alone all day the first day.”

“Barely,” she hisses, jabbing his chest with a pointed finger. “If I recall correctly, you called me by lunch time. Hardly all day.”

“But it was still several hours alone. You can manage twenty minutes.”

Steeling her gaze, she sidesteps from the door. His shoulders drop in relief―they both hate arguments―as he moves to leave, but just before he mutters a goodbye, Zhalia calls out, “_ Sophie! _ Dante’s going to the store; do you wanna go?”

Dante whips around, horrified, as an excited squeal rings out, followed by the quick pattering of feet. “Yes, yes, yes!”

“No fair, I wanna go, too!” Lok rushes past Sophie and clutches the tail of the older man’s coat.

“You could both go…” Zhalia trails off just to see her partner squirm, “but maybe we should take turns. Dante and Sophie will go this time, and Lok, you’ll come with me next time.”

“Okay,” Lok says dejectedly and trudges back to Zhalia’s side.

“I’ll get you a cookie!” Sophie assures him and, Zhalia couldn’t believe her eyes, presses a kiss to his cheek.

She exchanges a _ look _ with Dante.

.

“Shit,” Zhalia swears, clamping onto the injured finger with her other hand. Dante needs to get new knives―these are too dangerous. With parts being too dull and parts being too sharp, she finds herself struggling to maintain uniform cuts of carrot. She turns around to grab a bandaid but freezes when she meets two sapphire eyes staring at her wide-eyed.

“...shit.”

A chill runs beneath her skin. “No, _ no _, Lok, that is a bad word. Do not say that.”

“But you said it!”

“Because adults can use it, and I’m an adult. You are not, so forget about it and go back to Cherit.”

“Shit,” he says again. Is he _ smirking _at her? His normally angelic smile (look at her using adjectives that weren’t in her vocabulary before yesterday) is morphed into a satisfied grin. Cheeky bastard.

“You get _ back _ here, Lok Lambert!”

“_ Shit! _ Shitshitshitshitshit,” he cackles gleefully, running around the living room and wiggling into the smallest nooks and crannies he could find. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!”

What’s a normal parenting thing to say? _ I’ll put you in time out _ ? _ No TV for a week _ ? Uh, _ brussel sprouts for dinner _?

The door clicks open, and Sophie runs in, chocolate chip cookie in hand. “Lok, this is yours!”

“Shit!” Lok exclaims. “Thanks!”

“Isn’t that…a bad word?”

Dante walks in with paper bags, brows furrowed. “Yes, yes it is. Zhalia?”

“What?” She leans on one leg defensively. “It was a slip of the tongue. He would’ve learned it eventually.”

.

Zhalia finally understands why nap time is the best time. She rests her head on Dante’s shoulder, eyes sweeping over the slumbering kids to make sure they’re not going to wake up any time soon, and yawns tiredly. He chuckles, threading his fingers through her hair. “I think we should take this time to sleep, too.”

He lays down on the couch and waits for her to settle beside him before throwing a blanket over them both. “I don’t know how people do this,” she grumbles. “Can we agree to no children ever?”

“I wouldn’t say _ ever _. Maybe just...a long time?”

Well. She wouldn’t mind a mini Dante or two, but with how she grew up, she’s not sure she can be the best mom. “A _ long _, long time,” she amends. She pats his chest and burrows into the fabric of his shirt. His cologne fills her lungs, warm and familiar. “For now, nap time.”

.

Nap time lasts approximately half an hour because Lok rolled over in his sleep and kicked Sophie by accident.

The small girl wakes up the whole house with an indignant screech, holding her side and glaring harshly at the blond. The house arrest is starting to get to everyone. Zhalia feels irritability itch under her skin and is ready to fight at the slightest provocation. Unfortunately, this rude awakening counts as a _ slightest provocation _. She’s about to stalk off to find a secluded corner to brood when Dante claps.

“Alright team, looks like we’re going to the park.”

Zhalia rolls her eyes as the two kids cheer, enthusiastic to finally run more than the perimeter of the kitchen, and gestures to the very much adult pink and blue jackets hanging off the coat rack. “What’re they gonna wear?”

.

Dante dug up some old boxes in his attic and found the smallest outfits he had. They still swallowed the small frames of the younger teammates, but at least they had something to wear. Lok skips forward to hold Dante’s hand, pointing to the river and recounting some dream about a water monster that tried to hypnotize him into swimming into her trap. “But then _ woosh woosh! _ You came in and hit it away, and Zhalia did a really strong Boltflare. Then everything was back to normal,” he says. “It wasn’t a fun dream, but it was pretty cool. I had this _ awesome _ dream the other day―”

Zhalia shakes her head. When that boy gets into his stories, it’s hard to get him to stop. She’s surprised Sophie’s not talking much, though. Speaking of Sophie, where is…

...she?

She spins on her heel, tracing their steps. “Sophie?” She literally _ just _saw the girl a few seconds ago, hovering by Lok’s side before he went to Dante. “Sophie!”

Her calls grab the other two’s attention, and Dante’s grasp on Lok’s hand tightens. “Stay close to me,” he advises, leading them both after Zhalia.

Zhalia catches a faint squeak and whirls towards the footbridge where Sophie stands, elbow trapped in a Suit’s grip. Her fist warms up for a Raypulse, but the Suit smirks and yanks Sophie in front of him. “Let go of her,” she snarls, dropping into a defensive stance. She hears Dante come to a stop next to her.

He holds out a placating hand, ever the charmer. “We’re not looking for a fight, buddy. We’re only trying to take the kids out for a walk.”

“Nice try, Dante Vale, but we won’t fall for it.” He jerks Sophie to his side, eliciting another pained yelp. “Where’s the Casterwill and Eathon’s kid? They hiding to ambush us?”

“If you want to get a beatdown, my partner here is more than ready, but let the girl go. She’s not doing anything to hurt you; holding her hostage is a little cowardly, don’t you think?”

The Suit glances down, considering Dante’s words, but the second Suit hesitantly holds onto Sophie’s other arm. Her eyes dart between Dante, Zhalia, the strawberry blonde, and the tiny boy peeking around Dante’s legs. “Wait a minute,” Suit 2 furrows her brows, connecting the dots. “They were calling for _ Sophie _ earlier. It appears that the Casterwill has been...miniaturized?”

Now trapped by both arms, Sophie squirms uncomfortably. Zhalia bites her lip, trying to think of a plan, but Dante moves first: he points to an alleyway and instructs Cherit, who emerges from his trench coat, to watch over Lok. Then he fires a quick Boltflare that hits by the Suits’ feet, kicking up a cloud of dust that’s distracting enough for Zhalia to launch into a handspring and swipe Sophie away. She presses the girl to her chest, shielding her protectively as she stands behind Dante.

“Gah, Dante Vale, you’re gonna get it! Red Cap, come to me!” Suit 1 yells, holding up a glowing amulet.

What’s with bad guys always calling him by his full name? It’s always _ Dante Vale _ this and _ Dante Vale _ that. Now that she thinks about it, she’s heard a few _ Sophie Casterwill _ s because of the family’s legacy and the occasional _ Zhalia Moon _ when they notice her, but the attention is usually focused on their trench coat wearing leader. Is it the billowing trench coat? Should she order one, too?

“Show no mercy! Harlekin!”

“Let’s play, Caliban!”

While Dante focuses on their opponents, she dashes to where Lok and Cherit stand and places Sophie beside them. “Gareon, protect them,” she tells the invoked Titan.

.

The fight is short. She barely broke a sweat by the end, and she didn’t even have to summon any Titans. Caliban and Dante took care of them while she made light work of the Organization members. That was probably the weakest Boltflare she’s ever seen...and she’s fought against Lok during his first days as a Seeker.

“Lok, Sophie, how’re you two holding...up?”

The two look up at her faltering words, but Dante’s also frozen. The jacket once drowning Sophie in its folds now sits a little more squarely on her shoulders.

Dante kneels down. “Quick, how old are you?”

Lok fumbles with his fingers before holding up two hands. “Eight?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **a/n.**  
season 2 is so strange to me. it feels so...different from the first season. i'm not sure how i feel about it yet, but i love the strong LxS and DxZ vibes
> 
> **inspiration.**  
the kindergarteners i teach


	3. exhausting eights

The baby carriage rolls to a stop by Zhalia's side, despite her internal prayers, and the mother who owns it flops onto the bench with a sigh. "Kids, am I right?" She waves a hand to the toddlers screaming on the slides. Three of them, Zhalia notices with a wince. Poor woman. "Which one is yours?"

"The blond one," Dante lies smoothly, placing a hand on Zhalia's knee. She leans into his shoulder to play along. "He and his friend wanted a play date, and it's the perfect day to be outside."

"Oh, I agree," the woman titters. "I'm Carina. You're so lucky, dear; my husband is always too busy to help me watch them."

"Sylvia and Pierto." She offers a fake smile. "I'd like to say that he's only here at my insistence, but it's the other way around."

Another giggle. "Lovely, lovely. Gosh, you two remind me of my marriage's early stages. Back then, my husband…"

Zhalia zones out, but she gives well-timed nods to suggest her attention―a skill perfected from having to listen to Lok and Sophie's conversations. Instead, she muses on Carina's comment. Did she and Dante really look like a young couple? It assuages her worry about being with the skilled seeker; though they haven't officially clarified the details of their relationship, she knows that her feelings are reciprocated. But the mutual nature doesn't prevent her insecurities from popping up once in a while.

Carina finishes her story, and Dante gives an appropriate response before the three of them lapse into companionable silence.

Until Sophie gives a startled yelp and tumbles to the ground.

Zhalia slides to her feet once she sees Lok's thunderous expression turn towards a slightly older boy whose arms are still outstretched, a wolfish grin stretched across his features. Lok jabs the boy in the chest.

"What do you think you're doing?" he demands. Zhalia looms over both of them while Dante tends to Sophie, who brushes down her scraped knees with a small whimper. "You hurt her!"

"She was in the way," the boy says with a languid shrug. Zhalia sees a Boltflare flickering around Lok's fist and hovers a calming hand over it, but she feels irritation crawling under her skin, too. "I wanted to get on the slide, and she was too slow."

"He isn't worth it," Zhalia mumbles into Lok's ear before levelling a glare at the snickering kid. He freezes and stumbles, falling onto his bottom as her hazel eyes flash green.

.

"Zhalia, I still feel so...angry," Lok says, staring into his palms. He slows until he comes to a stop in the middle of the road and looks up to her with a confused face. "I know I shouldn't be, but I wanted to push him, too. Make him fall so he scrapes _his_ knees like he did to Sophie."

Dante looks back expectantly, so Zhalia waves him on. The faster he gets home, the faster he can tend to the girl in his arms; she can handle something like this by herself.

"Well, buddy, that happens."

His frown doesn't budge.

With a sigh, she squats down in front of him. "It doesn't mean you're a bad person, Lok. It's normal to get upset when you see someone you care about get hurt, especially when another person is hurting them. The fact that you feel that way is, I dunno, a sign that you want to protect Sophie, which isn't a bad thing. You can do something with that anger: you can channel it towards the perpetrator and take it out on them, maybe feel satisfied for a few minutes, or you could use that energy to care for the person who got hurt. Right now, it's more important to make Sophie feel better, don't you think?"

"Of course!"

"Then c'mon, let's go get her some snacks on the way back."

"Can I have some, too?"

"Sure, we'll tell Dante it's your 'almost got in trouble but didn't' reward."

.

It has been three days of what Zhalia dubs 'the exhausting eights,' and she is very, very tired. Guggenheim said this is going to be a restful period for them, but she would much prefer roughing it in the Alps over hearing Sophie read out the 38th constellation origin story.

"Cassiopeia came from the Greek queen Cassiopeia," she reads.

Beside her, Lok tops off his block tower with a triangle piece. He gives it a three-second look of triumph before declaring _Charge!_ and running straight into it. The tower collapses, sending the wooden pieces flying. Zhalia swiftly snags one from the air as it sails towards her mug of tea. She tosses it. It lands cleanly into the toy bucket.

"Lok, I told you to be more careful with those," says Zhalia, weariness in her tone.

"Yeah, you almost hit me this time." Sophie swats at him in distaste. "Dante said these were presents from Guggenheim, so don't ruin them!"

"I'm not!" He plants his hands on his hips.

Zhalia recognizes yet another argument brewing, so she pushes off the armchair and wanders into the kitchen, not wanting to hear their shrill debate. "Dante, tell me dinner will be ready soon. I think I worked up an appetite trying not to go crazy."

"Soon," he chuckles and offers her a sip of the simmering beef stew.

"Who knew the great Dante Vale was such a house husband?" It's strange to see him in sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt; she swears he practically sleeps in his work clothes just in case the Foundation gives a call. But the children must be getting to him because she catches the rough edges of his beard and the sag of his shoulders. She pats one in comfort. "Once this is all over, we'll sleep for a week and get those two to wait on us hand and foot. It's the least they could do for―is that a grey hair?"

He takes a step back, but no, that's _definitely_ a grey hair. Her lips turn up in a smirk.

"It's because of the situation," he insists. "Handling Lok and Sophie is even more stressful than our regular missions. I'm not getting old or anything. I'm _not_."

"I didn't suggest otherwise." But the smirk doesn't leave, and she only grows more amused as he defends his age. It's almost cute. If he wasn't so tired, he probably would've had a tighter rein on his words, but as it is, he's babbling to distract her and she wishes she could record him right now. "I'll go set the table."

Earlier in the week, they decided that the normal china plates were no longer safe in the hands of these clumsy new forms, so Zhalia opts for the animal shaped ones they bought instead. She herself doesn't quite get the appeal. You put different food into compartments that were poorly painted to resemble ears and eyes and mouths. It all ends up the same in your stomach anyway. But Lok begged and Sophie used her Casterwill eyes, and before they realized it, Dante and Zhalia were past the cashier, bags heavy with two sets of everything.

For tonight's beef stew, Zhalia sets out the frog themed bowls.

.

"Seekers, we got ourselves a mission," Dante mutters to himself for the sake of nostalgia. Zhalia gives an eye roll that he catches in his peripheral. "Okay, fine. _Seeker_, we got ourselves a mission."

"What, try to make it to the mountains alive?"

"A task easier said than done. I'm glad Montehue tired them out at the last rest stop. Do you think they need anything?"

Zhalia twists around in the passenger seat to survey the scene behind them. In the back row, Montehue shifts a pillow between Lok's cheek and the window before giving Zhalia a thumbs up. It's almost comical to see his large frame curled into the soft seats of a family van when he's known for driving the biggest Foundation-authorized pick up truck, but then again, this whole sight is a bit unsettling. If only the Organization could see them now: Dante Vale substituting his usual sunglasses for the most atrocious pair Zhalia could find at the gas station (pink and polka dotted to match the fuzzy dice set hanging off the rearview mirror), Scarlet Byrne reading a book to Sophie (does no one else think this is strange?), Tersly trying to balance a laptop on his knees while fidgeting with the equipment hooked onto the roof, Cherit lounging over a box of crackers, and her sipping a watery concoction some bearded man tried to pass off as coffee.

"Sophie woke up for a bit, but it looks like Scarlet's keeping her busy. Lok's fallen asleep completely," she reports. "Any updates, Tersly?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing yet. I knew my technology would be inaccurate considering the complexities of this case, but I can't detect _any_ magic."

"This is proving to be more complicated than we thought," Cherit sighs, flicking his tail out of Sophie's hold as the girl nods off again. "Maybe you can sense it when they change ages again?"

Now that Cherit mentions it, neither she nor Dante have witnessed the changing of ages. When Lok and Sophie first shrank into babies, Dante was out of the room and discovered them after they started wailing. From babies to five, Sophie wandered into Dante's room and Santiago wasn't paying attention. From five to eight, they were preoccupied with the Suits, but...Cherit was watching over the kids.

The revelation hits Dante at the same time, and they share a look over the center console. Dante speaks first. "Cherit, did you happen to see anything when they turned eight? Was it a gradual or sudden change?"

Zhalia tries to imagine Lok and Sophie's faces slowly morphing into a slightly older version of themselves and finds herself struggling with the image. But maybe an immediate change would be just as jarring. It'd be like watching a digital clock jump from 1:59am to 3:00am during daylight savings: something you were expecting and waiting for but not quite ready to see.

"I think...I think I missed it." Cherit's brow creases. "I was guarding the alley, so I wasn't paying attention to them until after everything settled down. By the time I looked back, they had already changed."

"You did your best, Cherit. No one can fault you for that," Scarlet says, and Zhalia sinks into her seat as the soft Irish accent charms its way into everyone's hearts. Seriously, Montehue is giving Scarlet the fondest smile, and Zhalia is very uninterested in seeing their lumbering giant melt into a pile of goo.

"Are we going to be there soon?" Zhalia hisses to Dante, hoping that this isn't a preview of what their weekend trip is going to be like.

"Soon," Dante assures her. He offers his half eaten breakfast burrito. "Want a bite?"

.

She shoots up from the bed, chest heaving. Her body shakes despite herself, and a film of sweat shines like a second layer of skin, making her shiver against the cool air. Beside her, Dante stirs.

"Zhalia?" he murmurs as he takes in her frenzied eyes. He snaps to attention and gathers her into his arms. "Hey, hey, it's alright. I'm here."

Can he hear the rapid thudding of her heart? The blanket pools around their waists, and her hands clutch at the material in an attempt to slow her breathing. It isn't her first nightmare―not by a long shot―and she can't remember the details of this particular one, but something about it shakes her thoroughly. Dante guides her hands so that they wrap around his back and her cheek presses against his chest. She doesn't know how much time passes, how long Dante spends rubbing her shoulders and whispering calming mantras into her ear, but eventually her gasps sputter out.

"Feeling better?"

She nods and extracts herself from his hold. He slides back to give her some room but keeps a firm hand on her hip just in case. He always does, and Zhalia lets herself bask in his warmth for another silent moment before meeting his eyes. "Thanks," she says, more curt than she means to.

Is it a sign of weakness to rely on him? When she worked under the Organization and lived alone, she trained herself to not react to bad dreams, especially during stealth missions. No one was there to help her pick up the pieces. As the daughter of Klaus, she had to prove herself as a Suit. But the pressure is off here, and the longer she's with her Foundation team, the more she finds herself turning to Dante for comfort.

Of course, he always plays his part well: smiles gently and reminds her that he would do the same for any of his teammates, and she (he adds in a cheeky wink) is a _special_ teammate. She sees the beginnings of that smile form now and doesn't know if she's really in the mood for jokes just yet, so she flits her gaze to the open window instead. The moon filters through swaying branches and casts a mix of light and shadows that dance across the floor―swooping, twisting, evading. Her dream slowly comes back.

"We were in a summer villa. Ours. Me and you." Her eyes close as she leans against the headboard. They had two little children, a boy and a girl who looked suspiciously like Lok and Sophie. The four of them led peaceful lives, and Zhalia could almost taste the salty sea air and sightly overcooked pancakes that Dante is known for. They spent their days rolling around in the sand, breaking through waves in their boat, having dinner on the patio, playing board games by open french doors. Everything was so normal and stress-free, her throat tightens a little. And then one day, the kids...

"The kids?" he pushes.

"They...got hurt," she whispers. The scene isn't clear in her head, but her brow furrows at the feelings constricting her chest. Dante's thumb rubs circles into her skin as her breath catches again. She barks out a bitter laugh. "This is silly. It's just a dream, I don't know why I'm getting so worked up about it. Seriously, _kids_? In what parallel universe?"

Dante doesn't say anything, just waits for her to finish talking before handing her his shirt. "Here, why don't we check up on them? Maybe it'll help ease your mind."

She wants to brush it off, but he's right. Something about her teammates being so vulnerable bothers her, so she slips the shirt over her head and takes his hand. For the weekend, Lok and Sophie are sharing a room at the end of the hall with Cherit curled around Lok's pillow. They look so peaceful. Dante jostles her shoulder, making her roll her eyes. Fine, he was right: she does feel better after seeing them.

"Let's go before we wake them up." She juts her chin towards the door, but it's too late. Lok stirs and blinks languidly at them.

"Wha―? Dante? Zhalia? When'd you get here?" He sits up with bleary eyes, sleeves coming up to wipe at his drool. He pauses when he realizes the sleeves of his sleep shirt no longer dwarf his hands. The question _How old are you now?_ is on the tip of Zhalia's tongue, but they've been over this before, so Lok meets her gaze and holds up his fingers. "I think I'm ten?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **a/n.**
> 
> I finished the second season of huntik a few weeks ago and was left a little disappointed by how it ended, but I'm hoping to make that into energy and inspiration for more fics! I have a few plots in mind already huhuhu. speaking of plots, does this have one? absolutely not. these are just loosely formed snippets and ideas that stemmed from a magical fumble, and I have no idea how to develop it or resolve it. I'm just having fun making up little kiddie adventures for dante and zhalia. I guess this could alternatively titled: hands off, in which dante unleashes his inner soccer mom.
> 
> **inspiration.**  
my 8 year old cousin who talks up a storm and has so much more energy than he did as a toddler. not sure how.
> 
> as always, please leave drop kudos if you liked it!


	4. tattling tens

**tattling tens**

* * *

Shortly after breakfast the next morning, Zhalia descends the mountain, zipping side to side to avoid the other snowboarders. Earlier she made sure her gear was tucked and secured in every possible way to prevent cold drafts, but slivers of chill still creep into invisible cracks and kiss her skin. She skids to a stop at the bottom of the slope. Snow sprays Dante's pants.

"Your turn," he says, snapping on his goggles. "The kids are doing well, but you have to make sure they don't separate from the group."

"How can I convince you to take up my babysitting shift?"

"Zhalia, love, you could offer me your hand in marriage, and it still wouldn't be enough."

"Cheeky," she says with a shove.

"You know it." He leans forward, bumping their helmets. "These are getting in the way, but pretend I kissed you."

"What do you mean? I put this on as a safety measure against your advances."

He grins and trudges off to catch the ski lift. The team has always wanted to take a winter trip―either at a mountain cabin for ice-fishing or at a resort for winter sports―but she never expected their much needed vacation to include three tag-alongs. On top of that, the ones most excited for the trip are currently enrolled in a beginner level class, surrounded by 10- to 12-year olds.

Amusing, considering Normal Lok shreds down advanced slopes without breaking a swear and Normal Sophie does tricks Zhalia never learns the names of. But the class offers discounted rental gear, and _t__hat _was the deciding factor: no one wanted to buy new equipment for the two.

Zhalia sits on a nearby bench with a coffee. Around her, adults mill about, to-go cups in hand and too occupied with their own friends to strike up conversation. Good. She doesn't need a repeat of that park lady.

As Dante warned, Lok and Sophie are at the group's outskirts, glancing around as they edge out of the student area. Zhalia clears her throat. Not meeting her eyes, they shuffle back into place with little pouts that she seriously has to get used to before they exploit it as her weakness.

Ten years old. When she first met them, they were barely sixteen, thrown into the Foundation before becoming legal adults. They couldn't even sign their own medical release forms. She's only a few years older than them, but the way they see the good in everyone, their innocence shining through the smallest of actions...it makes her feel her age.

Maybe Sophie could make a counterargument, being the only one suspicious of Zhalia's initial alliance, but Zhalia chalks their bad blood up to Sophie's jealousy over Dante, not actual, honed instincts.

They're so small now. Bundles of smiles and happiness. What were they doing at ten years old?

She could see Lok running through the fields of Ireland, holding onto Mrs. Lambert's hand and picking flowers with Cathy. Picnics in their vast backyard. Watching the sun rise and set on their front step. Climbing trees along the path, always thinking about his next meal. And Sophie, she could see reading by a window seat, head rested against the glass. Eager to learn, taking lessons from LeBlanche. Practicing martial arts with Santiago. Training to become a Seeker. _Boltflares_ and _Raypulse_s and special Casterwill spells until she mumbles them in her sleep.

Zhalia? Her early years blend together. Was she taken in Klaus by then? Or was she still stealing bread and digging through dumpsters for expired food? Was she still fighting people twice her size? Learning to pickpocket and swear and spit on the ground like tobacco-chewers?

Ten. So tiny, she now realizes. Hard to believe she was hardened at that age, burdened by the responsibility of being her own adult.

.

Zhalia blinks. She hopes she heard wrong.

"I'm so, so sorry, Ms. Sylvia," a teacher's aide says. The other clicks away on his phone with a less-than-genuine apology. "We looked away to help out other students."

So she didn't hear wrong.

"It's understandable. Those two get into more trouble than you'd expect." She tosses her cup into the compost bin and hikes up her snowboard. "You can stay here. I'll check out the nearby areas. Call the contact number if they come back."

She pretends not to worry because the one aide gnaws on her lip hard to draw blood, and Zhalia knows what it's like to deal with upset customers on top of a thorough tongue lashing from a superior. But as they turn away and she heads towards the woods, she texts Dante and the others with fumbling fingers.

Over the course of their Foundation careers, Lok and Sophie have racked up more enemies than she can keep track of, and now that the Organization knows about their vulnerable states...she tries not to think too hard about it.

As she suspected, a smattering of tiny footprints start at the edge of the trees, partially swept away with hands and fir branches. An amateur attempt, but it's cute they tried. She follows the tracks.

It's a long time until Zhalia sees anything. She expects a number of things: Lok and Sophie wandering, lost and confused; them playing in the snow, distracted from their quest to get away; a snow fight. She doesn't expect a log cabin with two child-sized boards and three pairs of boots lined next to the mat. She fires off another text before leaning her own board next to the others.

A light knock on the door is enough to make it give and ease open to reveal a fireplace and blankets on the ground. Only Sophie is sitting there, hands curled around a steaming cup, alternating between blowing and taking sips. In front of her is a thick book.

"Sophie, where's Lok?"

She doesn't answer. Only chews on a marshmallow and tilts her head towards what Zhalia presumes is the kitchen. From her angle, she can see a table and three chairs, one of them occupied by a older woman wearing what looks like her curtains. Zhalia treads lightly.

"No need for the sneaking. Take a seat, Zhalia," the woman says, waving a leathery hand to the last chair.

She straightens her back, hiding her surprise. "Thanks." Across from her, Lok beams, and Zhalia files away a reminder to re-teach stranger danger. "I seem to be at a disadvantage here. You know my name; what's yours?"

"Morgana." She pushes a mug forward. Chip on the handle, hand-painted flowers on the side. "Coffee, just how you like it. Unless you're in the mood for tea now? I'm going to fix myself a cup. I don't mind making one for you, too."

"Morgana." She pushes a mug forward. Chip on the handle, hand-painted flowers on the side. "Coffee, just how you like it. Unless you're in the mood for tea now? I'm going to fix myself a cup; I don't mind making one for you, too."

Zhalia watches Morgana rise to her feet and ruffle Lok's hair on her way to the cabinets. She's older, with wrinkles on her face and hair a white halo at her crown. Her braid is swept over one shoulder, but it's long enough to reach her elbow, knotted at the end with a dark elastic. Though there's a practiced grace to her movements, her gaze remains unnaturally on the horizon. _Blind_, Zhalia realizes as Morgana pats the tea sets and settles on an herbal mix.

"I'm good with the coffee," Zhalia says. "Does anyone else live with you, Morgana?"

"Only me. It's been this way for decades."

"Decades? I didn't know they had residential areas on the mountain."

"They don't. I keep a barrier up to turn away visitors unless, of course, they're welcome."

Lok leans over the table. "She's a psychic," he whispers. "She told me about my future. Said I need to eat well and sleep more and get good grades."

"Psychic is not incorrect, but I prefer the term _oracle_." Morgana pauses, raising her head. Faint hints of a smile on her face. "It seems the rest of our friends are here."

.

Morgana's eyes are a pale pink, like crushed flower petals in water. They settle across the room, unfocused yet holding a sense of clarity that sparks Zhalia's unease.

"Thank you for inviting us in," Dante says to Zhalia's right. He leans back against cushions. "Can you explain more about this curse you're seeing?"

They're sharing the smaller of the two couches, across from Morgana in her big armchair and next to the bigger couch with Montague, Tersley, and Scarlet. With six adults trying to occupy the living room, the log cabin feels smaller than before, and Zhalia crosses her legs to stop herself from fidgeting. She wants to open a window, stand by the door―anything to stop the fire's heat from pressing against her collar. Maybe this is another one of Morgana's spells of suggestion.

"As I said before, my human eyes are offered to the gods, and in return, they've given me the power to see beyond this plane of existence. Those two―" she points out the window to Lok and Sophie playing in the snow―"have a strange layer of magic surrounding them, like it's suppressing their energy. I'm guessing it has something to do with their altered forms."

"Yes, there was an enchanted book with supposed information on the Elixir of Youth."

Tersley stops scribbling in his notebook to ask, "Miss Morgana, what do you mean suppressing their energy?"

"Imagine seeing an outline of a person's body," she says, creating a circle with her hands. "In the center is a ball of energy, life force, that extends to fill up the space so that the energy ends where it meets the outline. As the body grows, the energy grows, too. For people like yourselves―what word did you use? Seekers?―the energy organizes itself differently, but it follows the same principle.

"Lok and Sophie, however, have more energy than normal within their space. They're surrounded by a magic that's compressing them, forcing them into smaller forms, but the good news is the magic isn't strong enough to keep them like this forever. They're pushing against it. Does this sound right?"

"That could explain their changing ages," Tersley mutters, writing that down.

"I don't mean to pry into your affairs," Scarlet begins with a disarming smile, leaning her elbows on her knees. Morgana tilts her head, not charmed, and Zhalia squashes down her desire to smirk triumphantly. "But your powers are quite unique. Have you ever been approached by the Foundation? We'd love to have someone like you as a contact."

"Ah, yes, I had a brief alliance with your people during Metz's early days..."

Morgana delves into her story, describing events and people that have the others nodding in recognition, but none of the names ring a bell for Zhalia, so she scans the mantle instead, taking in the scattered photographs and trinkets. In one frame, gold paint flaking with age, Morgana stands behind a young girl as they pick herbs from a garden, and the girl beams up at her, wide brim sunhat nearly slipping off her braided pigtails. The next frame has them riding a horse up a mountain path, and Morgana is too busy guiding the horse to look at the camera, so the girl makes up for it by blinding the lens with her wide smile. The pictures continue in chronological order, following the girl as she grows into adulthood and finally becomes a withering elder that's the spitting image of Morgana, if not for the pin straight hair. The last one is of them side by side at the kitchen table. Zhalia traces through the images again, noting the changing fashion and quality of the pictures. Strangely, Morgana looks the same in every one. And what did she mean by _Just me. It's been this way for decades_ when there's photo evidence of at least one other person?

Zhalia's turtleneck feels tight. She wants to leave. She hooks a finger beneath the collar, tugging, and looks back to the oracle.

"―more firewood, that'd be perfect," Morgana is saying in Montahue's direction. He chuckles, a rumble Zhalia feels through her padded socks, and leaves the room. Moments later, she hears a grunt and the familiar _thwack!_ of ax splitting wood. Morgana turns her attention to Zhalia. "And you, dearest Zhalia, could you step out and make sure the children are alright? Even with my spells in place, the woods can be awfully frightening, and those two have a penchant for trouble."

What timing. Can Morgana read thoughts, too? Zhalia nods and shuffles out the door as they discuss how to weaken the curse. Maybe being with Lok and Sophie could bring clarity to her mind.

.

Zhalia was wrong―being with them brings headaches, a trend that she complains about but conveniently forgets every time.

Screeching, Sophie aims her next Raypulse above Lok's head and hits the evergreen branches, and snow drops onto his head. In retaliation, he takes a chunk of snow and throws it. It falls short, breaking apart by her boots. Zhalia drops her head into her hands. She _just _got them to stop fighting about stomping through each other's snow angels. Arguments between Lok and Sophie aren't uncommon, but something about their younger forms arguing is unsettling. Genuine anger, not annoyance. Primitive and juvenile. High pitched yelling that splits her ears.

"Zhalia! Look what Lok threw at my head," Sophie whines, holding up the offending pine cone. She probes at an invisible bump on her forehead until Zhalia examines it closely and gives her a verbal _You're okay_.

At that, Lok scurries over. "Yeah, well, she started it first! Did you see how she pushed over my mini snowman? And stepped all over my snow village?"

"That wasn't a snow village; it was just a bunch of piles in a circle!"

"That was my _snow village_, Sophie."

"Well, it's not like I was hurting _you_."

Did she forget the Raypulse minutes ago? Cheeks flushing, Lok readies a retort, and Zhalia thinks back to her childhood, trying to remember if she was like this at all. This kind of behavior would have earned Klaus's disapproval, and the Suits who occasionally babysat her were immune to crying child charms. Not that their scowls were very comforting.

With their upbringing, she doubts Lok and Sophie were bratty kids. Must be part of the curse. Being forced through developmental stages leaves little room for learning manners. She leans back on her hands, scanning clear blue sky for clouds, birds, anything. As Lok and Sophie age, they keep the memories of their previous state, but every memory from before the curse was wiped. She kind of misses their original forms.

Wait. Her gaze snaps to them. What happens when they reach their normal forms? Will they keep these personalities, or will the curse breaking also mean the return of their old memories? She gnaws on her lip. If they don't revert back to their normal selves, these barely tolerable traits will develop into something actually intolerable. If that's the case, Dante's going to have her resignation letter on his desk, ink still drying.

"Careful, you might draw blood," a voice behind her says. Footsteps, a sigh beside her as Dante sits down.

"So what's Morgana's advice?"

He takes out a glass bottle, a mixture of herbs and a dark liquid that swirls ominously. A tape label on the side lists the ingredients, but she can't make out the slanted scrawl.

"This supposedly helps them push against the curse, makes them age faster," he says. "They need to drink it every twelve hours or so with food, but they can't mix it with anything else."

"Can we trust her?" She takes the bottle from him, uncorks the top, and gives an experimental sniff. Nothing suspicious, but her nose twitches from the heavy scent of clove. She passes it back. "This is intense. I can't imagine the kids drinking it without complaint."

"It's our best shot. Besides, an oracle isn't the strangest thing we've seen," he says with a low chuckle. "Magicians, golems, castles in the sky. What's an near-immortal woman living alone in the mountains?"

"Are Tersley and Scarlet still talking to her?"

"They wanted to ask more questions about her abilities, and she's telling them stories about her past. Apparently, she was told to train someone as her successor, but it didn't pan out well."

"The girl in the pictures."

"Yes. The gods accepted her as a channel, but she wasn't worthy of immortality. After she passed in her eighties, Morgana didn't have the heart to raise anyone else."

Zhalia whistles, impressed. "Eighty years. That's an long time to just be met with disappointment. You weren't interested in hearing her stories?"

"Oh, I was interested. I figured you needed help out here, though."

He gestures in front of him to Lok and Sophie building separate snow people, pouting but in some kind of truce. Between them sits a shared pile of branches and pebbles, and Zhalia blinks at how fast it settled while she wasn't looking.

"She asked to talk with you, by the way, but she knows you're uncomfortable."

"I don't really have anything to say to her."

His eyes search her face before he hums in acknowledgement. That's an annoying ability of his: seeing through her words, her barriers, and into secrets that she herself doesn't know. Her next words are interrupted by a screech of her name, and that's all the warning she gets before Lok launches into her lap, Sophie doing the same to Dante seconds later.

"Zhalia, we challenge you to a snowball fight," Lok says with a grim expression. He offers her a hand. "You'll have accept to our terms and conditions, or you lose."

She raises an eyebrow. "And what are these terms and conditions?"

"Well, first, if you hit us, it's half a point, and if we hit you, it's ten points."

"Isn't that a bit unbalanced?"

"Does this mean you and Dante are okay with _losing_?" Sophie crows. Her carefully pinned hair falls over her face in wayward strands, plastered to her face with melted snow, but emerald eyes twinkle with mirth behind the curtain of strawberry blonde.

"Oh, absolutely not," Dante scoffs. "What are the other rules?"

.

For the weekend, Montahue, Tersley, and Scarlet shared a room, and how they figured out _that _sleeping arrangement is a Tetris game Zhalia never wants to play. Though the three of them occupied such a small space, she feels their absence now.

She stretches out on the couch, Holotome open, and hopes for some peace and quiet. She gets no such thing.

"Whatcha up to?" Lok asks, flinging himself over her legs. His fingers stop flying over his latest puzzle: interlocked chains that clink when he drops them to the floor.

Words can't express how relieved she is to find that her teammates enjoy puzzles and books no matter their stage in life. She's watched an episode of _Paw Patrol _and understands why so many parents get haunted looks in their eyes. Zhalia picks up the puzzle and sets it on the coffee table.

"Going over plans for a mission."

"I thought Guggenheim said taking care of me and Sophie _was _your mission."

"For now." She smooths his hair, still wet from playing in the snow. "If Morgana's drink works, you two will be back to normal in time for my Ontario trip. Where's Sophie?"

"She's waiting on the porch for the next box to come. I tried to tell her that it wouldn't work. I stared at the doormat all day, and it appeared when I yawned. I think Morgana knows and doesn't want us to see her magic." He pauses. "That's a cool power, teleporting things to people. I think I'd send my mom stuff. And Cathy, too. Maybe. Maybe I can teleport myself; then I'd get to see them more often."

Zhalia's always wondered how much Lok misses his family. Going on adventures is fun compared to being at school―something about fighting for your life made for a more effective distraction―but there are some nights where she stares at the stars and slips back into the comfort of fond memories. She's about to say something when Sophie gives a cry of annoyance, and Lok launches himself onto the couch, wiggling between Zhalia and the cushion. He yanks the blanket over himself as heavy footsteps―followed by lighter, faster pattering―approach.

"Hey, Zhalia, have you seen Lok?" Dante pulls a beaker out of the box in his arms. "New shipment."

"No, I haven't seen him. I'll let you know if he comes by." She draws her knees to her chest, tenting the fabric to hide Lok's lumpy form. "Did you check around back?"

Dante shakes his head no and leaves the room again, and Zhalia waits for the back door to close before she pokes what she guesses is Lok's shoulder.

"You know, it's good for you."

"Yeah, but it's _gross_."

"The faster you guys grow, the faster we can go back to traveling."

"...you make a good point, but it's _nasty. _You said it, too."

"I'm not the one who messed with ancient magic. Consider it a lesson learned."

He huffs dramatically, throwing the blanket off his face to give her a pointed look. "Zhalia, does anyone on this team _ever _learn their lesson?"

"...you make a good point."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'd like to reiterate that this story has no plot. like, at all. even if you squint, there is nothing. there's no conflict, no surprises, probably no "organization uses this new weakness to their advantage to attack the huntik team," but we'll see on the last one. morgana exists only for my convenience and won't be mentioned again LOL maybe one day i'll write something that's not vapid, but this is just for me to get the silly idea of lok and sophie being children out of my head

**Author's Note:**

> **a/n.**  
if you liked, please leave a review or drop a follow! as always, if you want to support my writing/art, please visit me on ko-fi/patr(e)on: aerysian.
> 
> katocchi


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